


Jack of All Trades

by dracoqueen22



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Fluff and Humor, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Fjord has many, many talents, but sewing is definitely not one of them. Molly takes it upon himself to give Fjord a lesson or two, and not just with needle and thread.





	1. Master of None

**Author's Note:**

> Just a wee bit of self-indulgent playful fluff and smut with my favorite doomed CR pairing. ;) Feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Fjord is talented in many, many things.   
  
Sewing, apparently, does not seem to be one of them.   
  
Molly watches him fumble with the needle, with the thread, with the stitches, with frankly everything associated with mending a hole in ones trousers. It’s making him twitch to see the uneven knots, the gaps, the drooping thread.   
  
“I thought you were a sailor,” he says and flinches when Fjord pokes himself in the finger and immediately sticks it into his mouth to suck off the bead of blood.   
  
Fjord crinkles his forehead. “What’s that got to do with it?” he asks around the finger. It comes out a bit muffled, but Molly’s somewhat decent at translating by now.   
  
“Don’t sailors, you know, mend their sails and shit?” Molly flicks his fingers pointedly. His tail lashes behind him.   
  
The stitches droop even further. The hole sags wider. The frayed edges of the trousers -- torn on a briar bush of all things, Fjord is also not very graceful -- get a little more frayed.   
  
Fjord blinks and squints at him.   
  
“What?” Molly asks, tailtip flicking into view.   
  
“I’m tryin’ to decide if that’s a euphemism or not.” Fjord pops the finger out of his mouth and picks up the needle again, bending over his trousers. “It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”   
  
“It wasn’t a euphemism.” Molly cringes when Fjord pushes the needle in an uneven row. He nibbles on a talon-nail. “You never stitched a ripped sail?”   
  
“No. I had other duties.” Fjord squints at his trousers, more focus and intent on his face than when he’s casted any of his spells.   
  
It’s as adorable as it is frustrating.   
  
Fjord tugs to tighten the thread, and three of the stitches pop out, pierced as they were through an obviously weak section of fabric. He mutters a curse. Molly echoes him.   
  
“They tried to teach me.” Fjord sighs and painstakingly picks some knots from the thread. How the fuck did he manage to knot it like that? “I guess I don’t have the right hand-eye coordination or something.”   
  
“That’s a load of bullshit. Your coordination is fine. No, stop, don’t do that.” Molly recoils as Fjord tries to use a now severely frayed thread. “You have to start over.”   
  
“It took me twenty minutes to get this far!”   
  
“Yes, I know. I’ve been watching you.” It’s as painful for Molly as it must be for Fjord who just…   
  
Yep. He just dropped the needle. Who knows where it went. Certainly not Fjord, who’s squinting down at the wood floor and his lap and twisting where he sits to find the needle that is quite obviously dangling from the thread still half-heartedly tangled in the stitching of his trousers.   
  
By the gods.   
  
Fjord’s tongue is between his teeth now, pinned there out of concentration. It’s adorable, and Molly would sit here in utter delight, smiling and humming to himself, were he not so annoyed.   
  
At this rate, they’ll be here until next week because Fjord doesn’t want his ass hanging out of his trousers, and he’s never going to patch that rip properly.   
  
"That's it." Molly shoves off the chair and stomps over to Fjord, swiping the trousers out of his hands. "Gimme the needle and thread."   
  
"What? Molly, I can do it!" Fjord twists, cradling his sewing supplies against his chest like the utter child he is.   
  
"No. You can't." Molly's blunt because he has to be. He flounces back over to his bed and his pack, digging around in it for his own supplies. "It's hurting me to watch you."   
  
He curls his legs and drags Fjord's trousers over his knee, squinting at the terrible patchwork before he digs his talons into it and rips out every last stitch. Better to start afresh. He rummages through the small box, pulling out a needle, some black thread, and a few scraps of fabric, comparing them to the trousers for the best fit.   
  
Fjord sighs and tosses his own kit in the direction of his pack. "Just don't make it look absurd or anything."   
  
"My patch, my rules." Molly looks up at him and winks, grinning with a sharp fang. His tail swishes behind him. "Don't worry. Whatever I do, your ass will look fantastic. Not that it doesn't already."   
  
A blush darkens the tips of Fjord's ears. He folds his arms behind his head and flops back into the bed, a plume of hay-flavored dust puffing up around him.   
  
"Fine," he says.   
  
Molly chuckles. "It's cute how you're conceding like you had a choice." He carefully threads the needle using a little trick Toya taught him -- rubbing the head of the needle against his palm, forcing the thread to rise up through it with friction. Such a smart girl.   
  
"I owe you one."   
  
"Who's keeping count?" Molly purrs. Besides, Fjord might not be so grateful once he sees the handful of sequins Molly plans on adding to the patch. Fjord needs a bit more flair in his life.   
  
He can't wait for Jester to tease him about sparkles coming out of his ass.   
  
Molly chuckles and starts to stitch. This is going to be  _glorious_.   
  


*


	2. Pat on the Back (Smack on the Ass)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no way this isn't all Molly's fault.

A slap on the ass is a common means of congratulations among the Mighty Nein. Course it’s more often to be seen between Yasha and Molly, or coming from Molly but still. At one point or another, they’ve all gotten that bum pat to show appreciation. 

It’s pretty common. 

But lately, Fjord thinks he’s gotten the lion’s share of the ass slaps. 

“Nice one, Fjord!” 

“Good looking out!” 

“You really are the leader of our group!” 

Yasha. Beau. Nott. All three in quick succession, the latter having to reach up to land the slap. And not for any accomplishment Fjord would find worthy of praise. It’s the oddest thing. 

It doesn’t help that Molly keeps snickering. 

Fjord gives him a look. 

“What?” Molly asks, all pretend innocence, his jewelry chiming on his horns, his tail gaily swishing behind him. “I know I’m looking good today, but I think it’s rude to stare.” 

“You know something,” Fjord says, suspicious to the core of him. 

Molly snorts. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Anyway, aren’t you supposed to be gathering firewood? You drew the short straw.” He waggles his finger in reproach. “Get back to work.”

Fjord gives him the stink eye but goes into the forest anyway, not too far from the group, and only long enough to grab an armful of deadwood to keep the fire going through the night. It’s getting colder and colder, and while Jester might be comfortable, the rest of them aren’t. 

He comes back and dumps the armful down beside the campfire spot Caleb’s been clearing for them -- not interested in setting a forest fire apparently. 

“Good idea,” Fjord says. 

Caleb straightens, the tips of his ears turning pink, as he always does when he’s complimented for everything. 

“That is, ehhh, a fine haul?” Caleb says awkwardly as he leans in closer to Fjord and gives him the lightest pat on the rump. 

The left cheek. Always with the left cheek. 

“Good job,” Caleb says, offering a thumbs up, before he shuffles away, to the safety of Nott and a log she had Yasha haul closer so they’d have a place to sit. 

It’s just fucking weird. 

Fjord crouches, shuffles the deadwood into a pile, and pulls out a flint. The fire sparks to life, bursting merrily over the dry wood and spreading quickly, giving out welcome waves of heat. As he stands, Jester swings around his side, one palm slapping over his ass before she nudges a bowl his direction. 

“My famous soup!” she declares with a bright grin. “For the hard-working sailor.” 

“This is the first time I’ve heard of it,” Fjord points out as he accepts the wood bowl, already steaming. Maybe she’d asked Caleb for help or something. Or Sacred Flame? Does that work to cook food? 

“Well, it’ll be famous by the time you’re done with it and tell the whole world about how delicious it is!” Jester declares with a wide wave of her hands. “Go on! Eat up!” 

She smacks his ass again -- her fingers lingering -- before flouncing off, humming a little ditty under her breath. Fjord watches her go with narrowed eyes, drawing a conclusion that has a little something to do with the muffled snickering behind him. 

Fjord whirls toward Molly, who’s sharing a tree trunk with Yasha. He’s redolently sprawled across the leaf-littered floor atop his tapestry, arms folded behind his head, red eyes glittering in the firelight. 

“What did you do?” he demands. 

Molly stands up, pulling his arms over his head in a slow, lazy stretch. “Me? What makes you think I did something?” 

“Do I really need to answer that?” 

Yasha gives a quiet laugh. “Perhaps, Fjord, you should fix your own trousers in the future.” 

“Yasha, you traitor!” Molly says with a playful gasp, leaning over to tug on one of her hair twists. 

Fjord’s eyes widen, and he immediately checks his trousers, fingers running over the tear Molly had fixed for him, and he’d been in such a hurry this morning, he hadn’t given it such a close look. It is not smooth with even stitching like he suspects. Instead, there’s a weird, rough texture to it. It’s a familiar sensation. 

Fjord twists around to stare at his ass, and it glitters back at him. 

Sequins. 

Molly’s sewn fucking sequins on his ass. 

Fjord whips back around and glares. Molly is laughing now, laughing hard enough to wipe tears from his eyes and even Yasha quietly chuckles, her eyes glittering with amusement. 

“It’s not funny!” Fjord snaps. 

“Oh, it is.” Molly straightens upright, his tail flicking around behind him like a cat ready to pounce. “You needed some flair, Fjord. I was all too happy to oblige.” He flicks one hand, brushing his fingers over his curved lips. 

Fjord’s eyes narrow. “And you had nothing to do with all the ass slapping?” 

“That worked out on it’s own. I have never been so proud of the Mighty Nein in my entire life.” Molly outright guffaws, and he moves closer, giving Fjord a pat on the hip nearest to the sequined patch. “They rolled with it so well.”

“You are so going to pay for this later,” Fjord growls. 

“Oh, promises, promises.” Molly laughs and pecks him on the cheek, his tail swinging around to whap Fjord on said sequined patch. “I’ll pay up when we hit the next inn.” 

Fjord’s insides squirm from the implication. The next inn? He can’t possibly wait that long. “Or you can take second watch.” 

“Ooo, naughty.” Molly’s eye flutters in a wink. “I’ll make sure Caleb leaves up his wire, yes?” He turns and flounces away without waiting for a response, jewelry merrily jingling from his horns. 

He’s going to be the death of Fjord. He’s sure of it. 

“I’ll take second watch, Fjord,” Yasha says, the small curve at the corner of her mouth almost enough to make it worth it. “Make sure he pays double.” 

Fjord laughs before he can help it. “Will do.” 

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also known as: herein lies the smut you've all been waiting for. Enjoy!

If Fjord thinks asking for a blowjob is some kind of punishment, clearly he hasn’t learned a thing. Molly loves sucking dick. Specifically, he loves sucking Fjord’s dick. He loves making the half-orc turn weak in the knees, tremble with want, and dissolve into hungry gasps and moans.   
  
It’s a power unlike anything Molly has at his disposal.   
  
Punishment? Hah. More like reward.   
  
He sucks Fjord into his mouth, sucks him deep enough to taste the saltiness over the length of his tongue and nudge the back of his throat. He swallows, tightening the pressure around the head of Fjord's dick, and Fjord visibly shudders, head knocking back against the tree trunk.   
  
He's got a handful of Molly's hair and a tight grip on his shoulder, and both are squeezing in time to Molly's slow suckling. He's going to draw this out as long as possible because he can, and because he has something to prove.   
  
Fjord smells of sweat and musk and forest and blood. It's been a couple days since their last bath, and the smell of him is thick and heady. Molly moans around the length of Fjord and bobs his head a few times, tightening the suction of his lips, more pre-come dribbling over his tongue.   
  
Fjord mutters a curse and bucks into Molly's mouth, but he pulls back at the last second, lips wrapped around the head of Fjord’s dick and nothing more. He tongues the slit, laps up the salty drops.   
  
"Stop teasin'," Fjord demands.   
  
Ah, but he's not the one in control here. It only seems like it.   
  
Molly laughs around Fjord's dick and swallows him again, tongue stroking a firm pressure along the length of it while he works his throat around the head. Fjord groans, long and low, and his head knocks back against the tree again, his fingers scraping over Molly's scalp in a way that makes him purr.   
  
Molly gives him a few bobs, lets him think he's going to let Fjord spill. Builds him up with sucks and licks and speed and when Fjord moans, Molly abruptly backs up, letting his dick bob freely in the cool night air. It's an angry color, swollen and firm, beading at the tip.   
  
Molly laps up the dribble. "You have to be quiet, Fjord," he admonishes playfully, his tail swishing behind him as hazy gold eyes try to focus. "You don't want to wake anyone up do you?" He slips a hand into Fjord's trousers and cups his scrotum, rolling the balls with his fingertips before giving them the gentlest of tugs.   
  
Fjord makes a sound that is not at all human, a low, guttural growl. He arches his back and then shoves his knuckles into his mouth, muffling himself. His fingers dug into Molly's shoulder, pricking against the fabric of his shirt.   
  
"Be very, very quiet," Molly murmurs and takes Fjord into his mouth again, Fjord throbbing hot and hungry over his tongue.   
  
There's no teasing this time. He sucks Fjord deep and swallows him, over and over, fingers toying with his balls while he works his mouth over Fjord's cock, the wet slide of flesh and flesh barely audible over the sounds of the forest.   
  
Fjord exhales loudly around his knuckles, and his head tips back against the tree again. His fingers tighten in Molly's air, but he knows better than to push now. He knows better than to try and hurry Molly's pace.   
  
Molly hums in his throat, and takes Fjord deep, sucking hard at him. He gently squeezes and fondles and ever so lightly scrapes his fingernail against that thin strip of flesh between Fjord's balls and asshole.   
  
The sound Fjord makes is divine, and even muffled, it's loud enough to carry back to their campsite. Molly grins as Fjord's fingers yank on his hair, and then he comes, spilling down Molly's throat, biting hard on his knuckles to muffle his noises.   
  
By the gods, he's delicious. Molly has to have him. He'll just have to be quick about it. He drops one hand to his trousers, fumbling with the ties to pull himself out, his own dick straining at the fabric, leaving a damp spot behind.   
  
Fjord's come spills over his tongue, and rather than swallow it, Molly holds it in his mouth. He waits, gently massaging Fjord's balls while Fjord softens in his mouth, cock twitching from too much stimulation. He sighs the sigh of the satisfied, looking down at Molly with a bleary gaze.   
  
Now's the time.   
  
Molly stands, sliding his hand free of Fjord's trousers to grip him by the hips and spin him around. Fjord makes a noise of confusion, but he goes willingly, bracing his hands on the tree.   
  
"What're you doing?"   
  
Molly cups his hand under his mouth, letting Fjord's come dribble over his fingers before he slicks his cock with the spill. He shudders as his dick throbs, arousal pulsing hot and heavy through his veins. He's not going to last long.   
  
"You'll have to be quiet," Molly purrs as he nibbles on the back of Fjord's neck, and Fjord's head hangs obligingly, giving him room to work.   
  
"Just don't make a mess."   
  
"Oh, that's inevitable, darling." Molly chuckles and tugs Fjord's trousers further down, baring the curve of his ass.   
  
And such a fine ass it is. Molly can't help but give it a grope or two, a shiver of anticipation dancing down his spine. He drags his finger down the crease, still slightly slick from Fjord's spend, but he's not going to make that much of a mess. He's not that rude.   
  
Molly grasps Fjord's right hip and presses against Fjord's back, the head of his dick skating along the curve of Fjord's ass before slipping along the crease. A little roll of his hips and he slides into place, between Fjord's thighs and into the damp heat up against his balls. Molly groans quietly, his forehead pressing between Fjord's shoulderblades.   
  
By the gods, it's been too long. Molly flexes his fingers on Fjord's hips and starts to thrust, little short rocks against Fjord's ass and between his thighs, into the warm space now slick with Fjord's own come.   
  
"Shit," Fjord hisses, but he pushes back against Molly, meeting his thrusts.   
  
"Shhh." Molly reaches around, sliding his fingertips over Fjord's lips, only for Fjord to suck them inside, tongue swirling around them.   
  
Arousal lurches within Molly's belly. He swallows a moan, hissing hot exhales against Fjord's back as he rocks his hips faster and faster, his dick throbbing and spilling more pre-come.   
  
Fjord's teeth and tusks scrape over his fingertips, and Molly shivers at the sensation. He hooks his arm around Fjord's waist, tugging Fjord back against him as he thrusts and grinds, tail lashing about until it encircles Fjord's nearest leg and squeezes.   
  
"Molly," Fjord groans around his fingers, nearly unintelligible except Molly swears he's memorized the sound of his name on Fjord's lips.   
  
Molly licks the back of Fjord's neck, tastes salt and dirt, and gives the green flesh a little nibble, just a small scrape of his teeth. Fjord shudders, goosebumps spreading across his flesh, and he shoves backwards, ass in the cradle of Molly's groin.   
  
Yes. Perfect.   
  
Molly buries a moan in Fjord's back as he hauls Fjord back against him and thrusts hard and fast, dick throbbing as release takes him. He splatters between Fjord's thighs, against his ballsack, creating a sticky mess of semen.   
  
Lights dance in Molly's vision as his forehead knocks between Fjord's shoulderblades again. He draws in several shallow breaths, blood pounding in his veins, as he presses against Fjord's ass and savors the sensation.   
  
"You made a mess," Fjord says around his fingers.   
  
Molly withdraws them with one last stroke and rests his hand on Fjord's shoulder. "Promise to clean it up."   
  
"You better." Molly presses a kiss to the base of Fjord's neck. "Gods, I can't wait until we get to an inn. The things I plan to do to you."   
  
Fjord snorts. "What? Ruining my trousers wasn't enough?"   
  
"That was flavor." Molly pulls back and tucks himself into his trousers. He digs around in one of the pockets of his robe and pulls free a handkerchief -- it'll need to be laundered after this -- and politely cleans Fjord up. "You need more sparkle in your life, Mr. Tough."   
  
Fjord groans and knocks his forehead against the tree trunk, bits of bark flaking down on top of him. "You're all the sparkle I can handle, Molly."   
  
Molly snorts a laugh. He tucks the washcloth away and tugs Fjord's trousers back into place, giving the sequined patch a fond pat. “Still not entirely sure how much of me you’re handling.” He spins Fjord around and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Though I commend you for trying.”   
  
Fjord tilts his head and captures Molly’s lips in a steamy kiss, his tongue plunging into Molly’s mouth as though trying to capture the flavor of his own come. The idea gives Molly a thrill and he pulls Fjord closer, deepening the kiss and rubbing their bodies together. They can’t do much more -- it wouldn’t fair to Yasha -- but damn does he want to.   
  
“We need an inn,” Molly says against Fjord’s lips.   
  
“We need privacy,” Fjord agrees.   
  
Molly gets a handful of half-orc ass and squeezes, his palm a little scratchy over the sequins. “I’ll fix the patch.”   
  
Fjord chuckles and playfully tugs on Molly’s tail. “Just leave it. I’ll get over it.”   
  
“You are an utter delight.” Molly laughs against his lips before forcing himself to pull away, denying the pulse of arousal in his veins. “Come on. Back to camp.”   
  
As Fjord walks ahead of him though, Molly can’t resist one last slap to that sequined patch. It’s kind of like a garish claim, and Molly is exceptionally fond of it and relieved he doesn’t have to tear it out.   
  
Fjord gives him a Look.   
  
Molly winks.   
  


***


End file.
